


Dreams of Blue

by Feathers7501



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Chuck is so mean, M/M, Poor Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26611609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathers7501/pseuds/Feathers7501
Summary: Dean is leading his best life... or is he?Inspired by a member in the Destiel Forever Facebook Group.Thanks for letting me share your dream Sophia K!!
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Dreams of Blue

Ok, so here’s the thing...

He’s comfortable here, behind the polished wood of the bar, a cloth in one hand and a glass in the other. Warm wood tones and polished glass give the small bar a cozy and welcoming feel.

There’s the hum of voices engaged in conversation over the low tones of the jukebox which holds every classic rock tune ever, (and maybe one Taylor Swift song, but no one knows about that).

Dean Winchester can’t know what’s been wiped clean from his mind. But he does know that he’s always owned this little bar, it’s out of town a ways, but known for good beer, better burgers and great company.

He also knows that if you’re on your way into town or out - Blue Bar and Grill is the place to stop for news, for a meal or just to put off going home.

Dean is comfortable here and looks like he belongs, the red checks of his plaid shirt are complemented and reflected by the myriad mirrors that line the wall of shelves behind the bar.

Dean nods at a few friends, and continues to think about Blue, how he’s set it up from nothing, how this small bar in the middle of nowhere feels somehow like an old friend. He shakes his head and smiles, as he turns to pour beers for the folks who’ve just walked in.

It’s later in the evening and Dean’s daydreaming as he waits for the last couple of folks to finish up. He can see the whole bar reflected in the glass shelves where the top shelf liquor sits.

“Top Shelf, huh” Dean mutters to himself. “The top shelf spirits are on the top shelf…” he laughs at his realisation. “Well who’d’ve thought…”

Dean leans back and kicks his feet up. Boots resting comfortably on an empty keg. His gaze is still directed at the display of spirits and liqueurs. He wonders if it’s time to get them all down and dust them.

A particular arrangement of branded bottles catches his eye, it’s a triad of Captain Morgan’s, Absolut Vodka and raspberry and Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum. The way the bottles are sitting and the manner in which the labels are aligned means that from his vantage point all he can see is CAS.

“Cas…” he murmurs to himself. “What is it? There’s something..” he trails off, the thought disappearing like smoke as he tries to hold onto it.

“Huh…” 

The last patrons wave to him and give each other a backslapping bro hug as they leave. The jukebox has run out of quarters and is silent in the corner.

Dean lets his boots thump to the floor as he heaves himself out of the chair. It’s an effort tonight. He’s tired. Not for the first time he wishes he had someone to share the load, someone to talk to at the end of the day, someone to… His thoughts trail off as he sets about tidying the bar and going through the routines of closing.

Coming out from behind the bar Dean straightens all the chairs and pushes the bar stools into a line. He stops for a minute in the silence to run a hand over the soft fabric of the bar stool seats… he chose it himself, it’s a soft canvas in a warm tan colour. Not the most exciting of colours or fabrics, but it has always comforted Dean. It just feels right.

Dean continues his nightly routine flicking lights off as he goes. Something in the very corner of his eye catches his attention and draws his gaze to one of the pieces of artwork on the wall above the kitchen hatch. It’s an interesting piece. A collage of found items arranged in such a way that it is a perfect representation of enormous night dark wings. As Dean studies the picture the wings seem to ripple and shimmer, and Dean frowns, a wrinkle appearing between his brows.

“What? Did that just…?” again the wisps of the thought escape him as he stares at the picture.

Dean gives a self deprecating laugh and slaps his thigh with the cloth he’s been using to wipe down the tables.

“Idjit” he says to himself. 

As he turns out the last light the bar is illuminated only by the glow of streetlights through the front window. The light falls on a poster on the other side of the bar, Dean can’t remember where it came from, maybe it has always been there. It’s one of those fake vintage de-inspirational quote posters, and proclaims in a weird unbalanced font “THE words are EMPTY promises.” And the hell if he knows what that even means. As he passes through the bar area to his private residence at the back it strikes him that sometimes he feels empty, sometimes he feels a longing, a hollowness where something should be if he could just work out what.

Dean crosses the room to the kitchenette, and grabs a bottle of Jack. He pours a couple of generous fingers into a tumbler and drops into an overstuffed armchair. The light in here is dim, there’s only one lamp on and the light from the street doesn’t reach the single window. He hasn’t bothered to pull the blind so he can still see the brick wall across the way. He sips the whiskey and it burns all the way down until he can feel it settle warm in the pit of his belly.

Across the way the wall on the other side has been graffitied - Dean idly wonders when that happened, must be recent, he doesn’t remember noticing the stark white paint against the crumbling red brick.

“Angels are watching over YOU'' has been hastily spray painted, Dean can even make out drip lines from overzealous application of paint.

Dean turns his attention to the amber fluid left in his glass. Turning the tumbler back and forward it sparkles in the light of the lamp.

“Sparks, sparkles. What does that remind me of?” Dean speaks out loud when he’s home alone. No one else hears him, no one shares his space, he’s alone. He sighs into the silence, working up the energy to go to bed.

Later, lying chastely between the fresh white sheets. Dean closes his eyes and sees Blue. Just the brightest and clearest blue that has ever been seen in Heaven or on Earth. It brings some small comfort to the desperately lonely man, but he does not know why.

Chuck has worked out that it is cruel to take Cas from Dean. But it is crueler to sear those memories of their time together from Dean’s mind entirely, leaving him drifting and forever lonely; always seeking what he has lost without knowing it.

Dean sleeps and doesn’t dream.


End file.
